


The High Way to Hell NSFW Drabbles

by acareeroutofrobbingbanks



Series: The High Way to Hell [12]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, M/M, You guys asked for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-27 14:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15026651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acareeroutofrobbingbanks/pseuds/acareeroutofrobbingbanks
Summary: Indulgent sex/sexual scenes that probably have nothing to do with magic but are in fact set in thwth universe.





	The High Way to Hell NSFW Drabbles

**Author's Note:**

> I’m trying to learn how to play with phallic imagery (because I’m a big gay, very much a woman’s woman) so this is a lot of foreplay, but I think it might be hot? Maybe? I’m still kind of new to writing sex, so let me know if it was good! And, uh. If you couldn't tell, summer gets hot where I am, so, ya know. Ice cream.

            Patrick was disappointed but not entirely surprised when he came home to see that Pete had done the grocery shopping. This was a fact not made obvious by, say, a full fridge, or vegetables left on the counter, or anything useful like that, but by twelve boxes of Pop Tarts in various flavors on the dining room table.

            “Hey baby,” Patrick called, “Did you go shopping?”

            Pete stuck his head around the corner, toothy grin on his face.

            “Yeah, could you tell?”

            “I could tell by all of the Pop Tarts,” Patrick said. “Why would you get tour food when we’re not on tour, sweetie?”

            “I was craving the s’mores ones, and then there was a sale,” Pete said. He walked all the way into the kitchen and opened the freezer. “I also got popsicles.”

            Patrick wrinkled up his nose. “Popsicles?”

            “Yes, popsicles, did you have no childhood at all?” Pete asked.

            “No, I liked them, I just haven’t had reason to eat a popsicle since I was a kid,” Patrick said. “So, did you get any, like, lettuce? Cereal? Tofu, bananas, juice?”

            Pete stood in front of the open freezer, thinking, while cold air billowed out into their admittedly sultry kitchen.

            “I think I got hard cider,” he said.

            “I love you, baby,” Patrick said. “Let’s just order pizza tonight.”

 

            For all his enthusiasm, Pete didn’t really touch the popsicles. A few grocery runs came and went, and Patrick was sort of sick of seeing the neon yellow box taking up space in the back of the freezer. He was hot and sweaty already, having just walked the dogs, and he wasn’t even sure if he still liked popsicles, but was willing to try anything that would cool him down.

            A sudden childhood memory hit him as he rummaged through the box: it was always tricky as a kid trying to get the right flavor and guess through the opaque paper wrappers. He pulled one out and held the paper as close to the popsicle as he could and tentatively guessed that it was cherry. Ripping it open, he was delighted to see fluorescent red inside. He still had the touch.

            Without even unclipping them from Penny and Hemingway's collars, Patrick dropped the leashes and fell into a chair at the dining room table. He pressed the popsicle as deep into his mouth as he could, and moaned around it.

            Sugar and artificial cherry and _cold_ , Patrick had forgotten how much he had loved this. He moaned from the back of his throat and pulled the popsicle out, running his tongue across its length to catch any drips.

            Overwhelmed by the cold, he then put just the tip of the popsicle in his mouth, sucking until his whole mouth was full of the cherry taste. He swallowed convulsively, part of him wishing he could just bite the top off and swallow it whole. He wrapped his tongue around the popsicle and licked up it with fervor.

            He pressed his lips around the popsicle again, halfway buried in his mouth and sucked at it, almost harshly. When he pulled the popsicle back, a sticky red drip of cherry liquid was running down his chin. He swiped his tongue around his mouth and made a soft humming noise as he caught the drop. It was roughly then that he noticed his audience.

            Pete stood in the doorway, looking thunderstruck. Patrick’s lips were stained red and swollen, and he was sweaty. Patrick pulled the popsicle out of his mouth with a soft plop.

            “Hey,” Patrick said.

            “You, ah,” Pete’s mouth felt abnormally dry. He felt as though kissing Patrick, with his wet, red mouth, would be the perfect antidote. “I see you like the popsicles.”

            “Mm, yeah, I really do,” Patrick said. He pressed the popsicle deep into his mouth and pulled it back out almost immediately. “I love cherry.”

            “It’s clearly the superior flavor,” Pete said. Patrick caught onto the mood immediately, smirking.

            “You want some of this?” he asked. He gestured to the popsicle, but then rather than holding it out, pushed the entire popsicle into his mouth, closing his lips around the end so Pete could only see the wooden stick pointing out.

            “You sure you wanna share?” Pete asked. Patrick, not taking the length of the popsicle out of his mouth, nodded. Pete felt weak at the knees.

            Patrick pulled the popsicle out again, held it out, wet and bright like his lips.

            “Show me,” Patrick said.

            Pete leaned forward, and Patrick lowered the popsicle to waist level. Pete slowly got on his knees on the kitchen floor, pressing his lips to the sticky tip of the popsicle. It was a rush of cold and sweet, and he looked up at Patrick as he leaned in, pushed the popsicle deeper inside his mouth. Patrick stared down at him, his pupils blown out nearly to the edge of his irises.

            Pete worked the popsicle over in his mouth, moving his whole head to slide his mouth on and off. Pale red syrup trickled down the stick, curving over Patrick’s fingers. Pete was so torn about where to look- Patrick’s pale, sticky hand, the bulge in his jeans, his dark eyes.

            Pete pulled all the way off the popsicle, dragging his teeth across it as he lifted his head, and Patrick hissed as though he could feel the scraping of Pete's teeth on skin. Pete sat back on his heels and stared up at Patrick, sure that his eyes were just as dark and needy as Patrick’s. He leaned forward one more time, licked the stray syrup off of Patrick’s hand, and Patrick made a soft noise in the back of his throat.

            “You gonna finish that?” Pete asked. Patrick leaned back and nodded.

            “Mm, yeah,” he said. “I’m -ah-” he slowly raised the popsicle back up to his mouth, sucked on it more needy than provocative. His eyes were half-closed, and the taste of the popsicle seemed to bring him back to life. He sat up straight again, licked the side of the popsicle. It had gotten much smaller from all their abuse, barely thick enough to conceal the stick in some places.

            “You’ve got something on your mouth,” Patrick said. He rubbed his thumb across Pete’s lower lip, his touch shooting from Pete’s lip to his spine, electric all over. Patrick stuck his thumb in his mouth, sucking the stray juice off.

            “You know,” Patrick said then, his voice low, husky. “There’s a whole box of those things. Did you want to just-?”

            “Please,” Pete groaned.

            Patrick threw the remainder of the popsicle in the sink, and the two of them let it melt there.

**Author's Note:**

> did y'all know popsicle was a brand name? due to the seventy-thousand red underlines in this chapter, I now do. What-fucking-ever. Patrick's not fellating an ice-pop.


End file.
